


Following in His Father's Footsteps (Led Him to a Witch Worth Keeping)

by Ellory



Series: Pureblood Wizarding Culture [26]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aristocracy, F/M, Pureblood Culture, so much fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: The start of Harry Potter’s sixth year at Hogwarts was torture, and not because his godfather had died.





	Following in His Father's Footsteps (Led Him to a Witch Worth Keeping)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net.

The start of Harry Potter’s sixth year at Hogwarts was torture, and not because his godfather had died. In truth, Harry missed what might have been more than he missed Sirius Black himself. He had maybe spent a total of a month with his godfather—that he could remember. So while he was sad, he wasn’t buried in grief, no matter what his friends assumed.

Of course, Harry did wear a red armband with the Black family crest on it over his robes. Just because he wasn’t traumatized by what happened didn’t mean he wouldn’t honor his parents’ choice of godfather.

It was the lifetime ban from Quidditch that made Harry suffer. Harry wasn’t devastated when he was banned from playing Quidditch because he loved the stupid game. He was furious because playing Quidditch was the only way he was able to interact with her and not get criticized or hauled off to the hospital wing.

Daphne Greengrass was always ready with a witty comeback. She made Draco Malfoy’s wit seem as dull as Vincent Crabbe’s. She was full of snark and poked fun at others’ foibles in a not cruel manner. Not to mention, she was a ravishing beauty. Her chin-length mocha curls enchanted him; whenever Harry saw them, he wanted to tug them, just to watch them bounce back into place. And her eyes, which, amusingly, were grass green, were alert and attentive. She didn’t miss the obvious, the not-so-obvious, or the I-didn’t-even-realize-that-was-a-thing.

She had served as the Slytherin Quidditch team’s strategist since second year. Daphne would scout out the Gryffindor practices, and then try to trick Harry into answering questions about special plays. Harry was proud to acknowledge that he had only fallen to her subterfuge once. Since then, he had merely flirted with her. When Daphne flirted back, Harry’s heart was sold. No one had ever paid him that kind of attention before. He felt special when she stared at him.

But Umbridge—and no, Harry hadn’t thrown a party when he heard that Bane killed her, honest!—had banned him from Quidditch for life.

If I talk to her now, or even approach her, I’ll be hauled off to the hospital wing, Harry thought. Harry loved his friends, but he wished they weren’t anti-Slytherin to such a high degree. It made romancing Daphne more than a little complicated. Ron Weasley would assume he had been cursed, and Hermione Granger would suspect love potions were at work.

“Mr. Potter.”

“Hmm?” Harry managed to tear his gaze away from the Slytherin table and one delectable witch in particular. “Yes, Professor?”

Professor McGonagall handed him a badge, a smile on her face easing the frown lines. “I’m sorry it didn’t come with your letter; I had to get some things sorted out, you understand?”

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked, but the badge didn’t disappear. McGonagall had made him Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain! That meant—

“I expect to win the Quidditch Cup this year, Mr. Potter. Severus’s complaints are most entertaining,” McGonagall said, somehow keeping a straight face.

Yes, Harry screamed in his head. He would’ve leaped to his feet and hugged Professor McGonagall if she wouldn’t have been just as likely to take it back. He was the Quidditch Captain. “Oh, you can count on it, Professor. I won’t let you down.”

McGonagall smirked at him. “See that you don’t, Mr. Potter.” Then she continued up toward the high table.

“Congratulations, Harry!” Ron said. At least that’s what Harry thought Ron had said; it was a little hard to decipher around all the food in Ron’s mouth.

“Well done, Harry. You deserve it,” said Hermione. She didn’t even look up from the Potions book she was reading, but Harry didn’t mind. It was impressive that she had heard at all with new things to study. Though Harry figured she had read the book at least once cover-to-cover over the summer. Hermione always liked to be prepared when it came to academia.

Harry rolled the badge around his hand. It was cold at first, but the metal quickly warmed at his touch. It meant a great deal to him, and none of those reasons had anything to do with Quidditch itself. His dad would be proud of him. As the thought circulated in his mind, Harry realized there was a flipside to it. His dad would be baffled by Harry’s lack of publicly shown interest in Daphne Greengrass. After all, his dad had frequently and loudly declared his passionate love for Harry’s mum. And Harry kept his mouth shut because he was worried his friends would think he was being influenced by a curse or potion?

“Coward,” he whispered.

What must Daphne think of him? Did she assume that she was personal entertainment when he was in the mood for a verbal sparring partner? Did she think he used her to practicing his flirting for other witches? Did she think he was sincere, but that he was too shy or weak to act on his feelings?

Harry gritted his teeth and gripped the badge until it hurt his hand. How could he fight Voldemort one-on-one and still be afraid to talk to the girl with whom he wanted to bond? That was pathetic!

Deciding it was about time he followed in his father’s footsteps, Harry rose from the Gryffindor table. He tossed the Quidditch Captain’s badge into the air, caught it, and repeated the action as he sauntered over to the Slytherin table. It didn’t take long for people to notice, and the furor in the Great Hall heightened.

“Are we going to have DA meetings this year, Harry?” Cho Chang asked as he passed the Ravenclaw table.

“No,” Harry replied, without bothering to look at her. She wasn’t the witch that held his attention, though she wasn’t ugly. “I’m sure Snape’s well-equipped to teach Defense.” After all, Harry thought, Snape knows enough Dark Arts that he would have to know how to defend against them.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco Malfoy asked. He was more tired than Harry had ever seen him. Hmm. That was something to investigate later; maybe the prat had finally gotten in over his head and would like some help getting out of it.

“Not everything is about you, Malfoy,” retorted Harry. He didn’t bother with Draco’s title—neither of them ever had. There was too much history between them to bother pretending that formal distance was even possible.

Draco’s left eyebrow winged upward. “Oh?” A hint of curiosity colored his tone. Good. Harry was pleased to see that his rival-acquaintance-friend was still willing to question things; maybe Draco could be saved, after all.

Harry sat on the bench next to Daphne Greengrass, his feet out in the aisle and back propped against the table.

“Potter!” Pansy Parkinson shrieked. “You almost sat on me!” She scooted a whole foot down the bench.

Rolling his eyes, Harry snorted. “Don’t be melodramatic, Heiress Parkinson,” he said, emphasizing her title in a subtle dig that she had forgotten his. He allowed several people to leave his title off, but she wasn’t one of them; that would imply a disturbing level of closeness.

Pansy’s cheeks pinked. “Sorry,” she whispered. It almost made her seem human, and less like a banshee. Huh. If that was what Pansy was really like, maybe she would be a good match for Draco, after all.

“Apology accepted,” said Harry as he continued to toss and catch the badge. 

“If you’re not here to pick a fight with Draco, why are you here?” Pansy queried, gaze narrowed at him.

Here was his chance to be as brave as his father was when it came to love. Harry grinned, and then he reached over, captured one of Daphne’s curls, tugged it straight, and then watched it bounce back into place. It was the softest thing that he had ever felt in his life. He wanted to bury his hands in it as he kissed her until she swooned into his arms. Well, that wasn’t likely to happen. Daphne wasn’t the fainting type, and Harry didn’t have enough kissing experience to make her swoon for him.

When he tugged another curl, Daphne glared at him. Ah, he finally had her undivided attention. “My hair doesn’t exist to entertain you, Harry.” She tried to grab his hand, but he dodged her and grasped another curl.

“Daphne, everything about you exists to entertain me,” Harry said with a charming grin. He knew it was charming because he had practiced it in front of the mirror for hours. It was identical to the grin his dad gave his mum in the memory in Snape’s Pensieve; it might not have worked for him in that moment, but it had to have worked eventually, since she bonded with him.

“Entertain?” Daphne hissed, as if his word choice offended her.

“Amuse. Entrance. Please. Captivate. Taunt. Tease. Torture,” Harry listed, before winking at her. “Take your pick. They’re all true.” He let her catch his hand, and then flipped it over and intertwined his fingers with hers before she could object.

Daphne stared at their joined hands. “And you, apparently, exist to torture me.” It was spoken so gently that Harry knew she hadn’t meant for him to hear it; he doubted she had even intended to speak it aloud at all. Daphne sighed, a soft, tired sound. “What do you want, Harry?”

“You.”

She goggled at him. “What?” 

Pained embarrassment and humiliation, with a hint of betrayal, reached his ears. Oh. Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing at her wrong assumption. He wondered if his dad blundered about like this, offending his mum on accident. “But I should talk to your dad about that first,” Harry said. Lord Matthias Greengrass was a reasonable bloke; he wouldn’t deny Harry’s suit. “So I’ll settle for your company at a picnic by the Black Lake for lunch today.”

And then it happened—the rarest of the rare—Daphne Greengrass blushed for him. “I’m not going on a date with you,” she hissed.

Harry beamed at her. She was even more adorable when she was ruffled and pretending to be disagreeable. “Of course you aren’t,” Harry agreed. “It would be utterly crude and disrespectful of me to ask you out on a date.” Dating implied a relationship that was temporary, something that was easy to break off and leave behind. He would never do that to her; Harry couldn’t tolerate the mere thought of leaving her behind. Daphne was his future. He was sure of it. “I’m asking you on a pre-Courtship Date. Hedwig can only fly so fast, you know. It’ll be hours before your dad agrees that I’m the perfect wizard for you. You’re not going to make me wait until tomorrow to go on a picnic with you, are you? Because that would be cold, Daphne. Cold and cruel.” Harry pressed his free hand over his heart, as if to protect himself from a mortal blow.

Blush darkening, Daphne sighed. “You are incorrigible.”

“I’m not sure what ‘corrigible’ is,” teased Harry, “but I don’t think I’ve ever been in it. I am, however, madly in love.”

“If this is a joke, Harry, I’m going to tell the president of your fan club that you’re too shy to confess your deep and abiding love for her,” Daphne threatened. It was a good threat; Cornelia Creevey was terrifying.

“No joke,” he assured her. Harry didn’t want her to assume for a second that he was playing with her, because this wasn’t a game to him. Love was serious business to a Potter, more so than it was to most people.

Daphne smiled at him; it was so wide that her teeth showed. “Then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to allow you the pleasure of my company for a picnic lunch.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Harry said, every word coated in triumph. He lifted their conjoined hands and kissed hers. He was eagerly awaiting the day when he would be able to kiss a lot more than her hand without fear of having body parts cursed off.

“If—”

“I don’t like stipulations,” Harry said before pouting. “They put a damper on my fun.”

Daphne glared at him. Was she immune to the Potter pout? He would have to work on that then; it must not be right yet. No one could resist the Potter pout! “If”—she stressed the word even more than before—“you provide appropriate chaperones.”

“Hey, Draco.” Harry spun around and sat properly on the bench. It was just plain rude not to look at someone when you were going to ask for a favor. “Can you sacrifice a meal with your adoring minions to chaperone my pre-Courtship Date with Daphne?” He smirked when the Slytherins bristled; riling them up was so much fun. He understood why his father and Sirius loved it.

Draco leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, though he seemed to be dazed by what had just happened. Then again, most of the Slytherins appeared to be in shock. Victory! “Why should I?” The silent ‘What’s in it for me?’ came through loud and clear.

Negotiating with Draco was one of Harry’s favorite pastimes, but he wasn’t really in the mood for thirty minutes of banter. He wanted to leave breakfast knowing that Daphne would be his for lunch. “You know what,” Harry said, feigning shock, “I just remembered that your father agreed to spy on Voldemort for me. I’m sure Minister Scrimgeour would fall all over himself in his rush to release your father from Azkaban and into my custody.” There was a beat of silence, and then Harry continued with, “It was so brave of him to agree, especially considering how much he suffered in the last war while under the Imperius.”

Draco’s gray eyes radiated something Harry never imagined would be aimed at him: respect and trust. “I suppose I could endure a picnic in your presence, Harry,” Draco said. The change of address was noted. “Only to make sure you don’t take advantage of Heiress Greengrass, though, of course.”

Harry smirked. “Of course.” Draco wouldn’t be Draco is he didn’t insert a subtle, or not-at-all-subtle dig into every conversation he had. It was a surprisingly endearing quality.

“How is being alone with two pureblood heirs any better than being alone with one?” Daphne asked, disdain audible as she squeezed his hand.

“Have some faith, Daphne,” Harry said. He winked at her. “I haven’t finished providing ‘appropriate chaperones’, yet?”

“If you ask Miss Weasley, I’ll have to remember I’ve already made lunch plans with Pansy,” Daphne said, sneering at the Gryffindor table. “I don’t want to go on a pre-Courtship Date and watch another witch fawn all over you.”

Ginny liked him? That was news to Harry, and unwelcome news at that. Aside from the fact that she was Ron’s sister, she was dating Dean Thomas. Witches who were in love with one wizard and spent their time with another were well beneath his notice; he couldn’t abide such games.

Harry rubbed the back of Daphne’s hand with his thumb and leaned over the table. He glanced to the right, gaze darting about until he found his quarry. Astoria Greengrass’s hip-length curls were the color of iced-tea left out too long in the sun. If Harry were drawn to delicate beauty, she would have caught his eye. Harry preferred the sultriness of Daphne’s beauty, with curves where they should be, and enough height that he wouldn’t strain his neck trying to kiss her.

“Astoria, do you think you could tolerate Draco’s presence long enough to help me win your sister’s heart?” Harry asked.

Her whole face lit up at the request, forcing Harry to revise his earlier opinion. Pansy didn’t stand a chance of landing Draco. He would bet every Galleon in his trust vault that Astoria was going to be Heiress Malfoy as soon as she was old enough for Draco to claim her. Only an utter imbecile of a wizard, or a heartless one, would be able to turn his back on such unaffected adoration. Harry knew firsthand that Draco was neither foolish or heartless.

“It would be my pleasure, Harry!” Astoria said. She came off as sweet and sheltered. How in the world had she been Sorted into Slytherin?

“Brilliant!” he said. What had Harry been afraid of all this time? Why had he waited so long to declare his intentions? Daphne was a witch worth fighting for, as his mum had been.

When Draco didn’t snap that he was perfectly capable of securing a companion to help chaperone the picnic, Harry knew he had been right. So, his childhood rival was going to be his brother-in-law. It would take a while to accustom himself to the change. He was up to the task, though.

Harry felt Professor Snape’s magic approaching and decided he wouldn’t protest when Snape told him that he didn’t belong at the Slytherin table. He was too grateful that Snape hadn’t immediately stormed down from the high table to give him detention and order him back to his regular spot.

“You’ve overstayed your welcome, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, peering down his hooked nose at Harry. “I suggest you take that”—Snape pointed at the Quidditch Captain badge that Harry had dropped on the floor at some point—“and go to class, before I start deducting points.”

“Sure thing, Professor,” Harry said. He grabbed the badge off the ground and shoved it in his pocket.

Leaving right away would’ve been the safe thing, but Harry was enjoying his flirtation with danger; it was going very well for him. So Harry twined his fingers through Daphne’s curls and bent down to whisper a question in her ear. “What’s your policy about kissing on a pre-Courtship Date?”

Harry was hoping to rile her up, so she would give him that adorable glare again. And, of course, he knew she would say something ridiculous, like: the odds were worse than the odds of Snape actually smiling in a non-vicious manner. But Daphne crushed his expectations and left his brain as a puddle of mush in his head, while he toddled out of the Great Hall with the stupidest smile he had ever worn in his life.

Daphne’s answer purred again through his body. “Only if you taste like treacle tarts.”


End file.
